Don't Leave Me
by Ericka Jane
Summary: The count down has started on the clock for Dean's life and Sam's not ready to let go. Then again, neither is Dean. Not a wincest.
1. Sam

A/N. So…this is my first Supernatural fanfic and I hope that it turns out half way decent, especially when it comes to keeping Dean and Sam in character as much as possible.

**Sam**

Briefly, I wonder how many nights I will do this for. Almost as soon as I ask myself the question, I immediately know the answer: one year. It'll be one whole year that I'll spend sleepless nights researching, making silent phone calls outside the motel door, and burying my head so far deep into a book, it might as well be up my nose. Even more so than that, it'll be one more whole year that I will stay up and just stare at my sleeping brother, like he's going to vanish into thin air if I tear my gaze away.

Dean's noticed, of course. Dean always notices. He's noticed how I drag ass in the morning and how black smudges have appeared under my eyes. He's noticed that I've probably lost a few pounds and that the smile doesn't quite reach my eyes any more. So yeah, Dean's noticed, but the most he's said is, "Sammy, you look like shit," because that's all he can say. No chick flick moments, it's a rule.

I smile cynically as I imagine what kind of chick flick moment might spurt up if he ever caught me sitting in the dark, trying my best not to go stir crazy. First he'd probably make fun of me for staring at him, saying something like, "dude, that's just wrong." Then he'd ask me what I was doing, being awake at 3:42 a.m. I'd probably just say something along the lines of, "Nothing, just couldn't sleep."

It's not like I'd be lying.

Then he'd give me that look, the look that just screams 'don't bullshit me, Sammy, I know better than that. I know _you_ better than that.' Then it could go in one of two directions: he could let it go, roll over and go back to sleep, muttering something that doesn't reach my ears. Or he'd push the subject, get into big brother mode and make me tell him why I am so upset. Then the chick flick moment would come.

What's funny is with as much that's wrong with this entire situation, I don't even know what I'd say to him. There's simply too much too say and knowing Dean, he'd never let me get any of it out before backing away. Dean doesn't do emotion very well. I don't really know how I'd word just how angry I am at him for making that deal. Or how terrified I am. I don't know how I'd be able to tell him that he should have left me dead and keep my teeth while I do it. He wouldn't take me telling him that very well because to Dean, me being alive and ok is all that matters. What he doesn't get is that's all that matters to me too, that he is alive and ok.

Dean shifts in his sleep, making some incomprehensible sound before stilling again.

I sigh and rub my hands over my face. This is insane. The logical part of me is saying, 'stop obsessing, get some sleep, you'll figure out how to save him, he'll be fine.' The emotional part of me, the part that just won't shut up, is saying, 'What are you thinking? You can't get out of this, he's going to be gone in a year and it's going to feel like a month. You can't sleep, you don't have the time.'

"Dude, what are you doing?"

I jump a mile in the chair I'm sitting in as Dean's demanding, sleepy voice drifts from his bed.

"I…nothing, go back to sleep."

For once, Dean doesn't argue with me. He tosses a bit before falling back into sleep. I am surprised that he doesn't put up a fight and demand to know what's up with me. Cautiously, I open my laptop again and continue researching cross road demons, and their deals. No one's ever gotten out of one, not yet anyways.

As I glance at the Dean shaped lump in the bed I make a silent vow that he will be the first one to get out of a deal. I fix my eyes back on the screen and ignore the slight urge to go and curl up next to Dean like I used to when I was five and he was nine, like I used to when I was scared.

I scroll through a few more pages and re-read all the things I've read a hundred million times, before I snap the lip closed on the laptop. I sigh in frustration and glance at the bright red digital clock. 4:22.

With hesitance, I stand from the chair, grimacing as multiple joints pop from the movement. I slink to the bed opposite of Dean and fall into it. I stare at the dark lump across the room for one more brief moment before falling into a fitful, exhausted sleep.

'Don't leave me, Dean.'


	2. Dean

**Dean**

"Sammy, you look like shit."

I chomp down on some hash browns and fix Sam with a stare that demands an answer.

'Come on, Sam, say something. Say some sappy girly thing to let me know what's going on in your freakish brain.'

My silent plea is only heard by me and the only response I get from Sam is a half-hearted glare over his plate of food.

'God damn it.'

If I didn't know that something was wrong before (which I did), I sure as hell do now. If the lack of bitching and chick flick moments weren't a dead give away, the zombie look that my little brother is now sporting sure is.

I narrow my eyes at him and violently shove more hash browns in my mouth. Sam's eyes are sunken in and dark, looking a lot like he went a few rounds with a large biker dude and lost. His jeans fit loser now, hanging from his hips like a gangly teenager instead of an adult man.

Sam pushes his eggs around his plate and stares at them, as if fascinated by their yellow color.

I eat some more, trying desperately to keep my mouth shut. I know what's wrong, I'd be an idiot if I didn't, and it's all the more reason to keep my mouth shut. Sam's been obsessing over my crossroads deal ever since he realized that he hadn't survived the stab wound. I don't want to talk about it, don't even want to remember it, which of course is next to impossible. If I remember I'm going to hell, I have to remember that Sam died, and that I failed to protect my little brother. It's selfish and I know it, especially since Sam is ramming himself into the ground, but I just can't face it. Not yet, not only three weeks later.

Nighttime is the worst. I drove myself crazy the first week. I couldn't sleep more than an hour without waking up from a too vivid nightmare, and then finding Sam asleep in the bed next to me. Only at that point, he wasn't asleep; he was dead, just like in Cold Oak. Then I'd be awake till dawn, just trying to keep my head on and reminding myself that I brought Sam back, that he was _alive_.

I let out a huff and look at Sam again, who still hasn't touched his food.

I whip out my wallet and throw a few bucks on the table. "Let's get out of here."

Sam follows without a word and slides into the Impala next to me. The ride back to the motel is silent and so thick with tension that it's damn near suffocating. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I try like hell, once again, to keep my mouth shut. Opening my mouth wouldn't lead to a chick flick moment, it'd lead to the whole damn movie, possibly even the sequel.

I let out a breath as the motel comes into view and I practically run to the room.

Sam sits at the table and drags out the lap top, while I flop down onto the bed and flip on the t.v.

"Gonna do some research," Sam mumbles and I flinch at the empty tone in his voice.

"Yeah," I reply softly.

Sam's too absorbed in what he's doing to notice that I'm staring at him, and not the t.v. I open and close my mouth a few times, each time trying to find something to say or debating if I want to say anything at all. I finally settle on keeping my mouth shut and glancing back and forth between Animal Planet and my brother, getting more pissed and worried with every look.

Sam shifts in the chair before standing up, a few of his joints cracking. I wince at the sound.

"I'm going to call Bobby," he says and walks out of the motel door.

I shake my head and try to direct my attention to the bears mauling each other on the screen, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Sam, pale and wasting away, and reminding me daily of what I almost lost at Cold Oak.

'Come on, Sammy, snap out of it, don't leave me, here.'


End file.
